Exulansis Liberosis
by Tia-Lewise
Summary: Trapped in an endless cycle of self-loathing and depression, Bakura has sunk lower than he'll ever be able to pull himself out of alone. Written for the Yu-Gi-Oh! Big Bang 2018 - full summary can be found in chapter 1. Cover image by Shadow-chan93.
1. Chapter 1

**_Trapped in an endless cycle of self-loathing and depression, Bakura has sunk lower than he'll ever be able to pull himself out of alone. Malik's been out of the picture, but now he's back in Domino and ready to kick his old friend's ass into gear, or so he'd hoped. Tough love and a few kisses just won't cut it here...and as the shadows of the past beckon, the "Sennen no Rokunin" step into the unknown to retrieve Bakura's soul before he is lost to the world forever._**

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 _What a privilege it was to write for this amazing project! This was my first time taking part in a big bang, and honestly, it just feels like we've all been brought together so beautifully in our sense of community and harmony. Thank you to the admins for organising everything, and thank you to all the friends I have made across our nerdy journey._

 _Artwork for this story has been kindly produced by **Ariasune** and **Shadow-chan93.** Head on over to this story on my Archive of our Own profile to see it._

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Malik barrelled through the apartment, refusing to acknowledge the burning pain in his shoulder. The front door hung open awkwardly, the worn wood dented from Malik's repeated slams, its lock shattered. He didn't even stop to close it, to prevent anyone else from peering in; he had to find Bakura.

 _"Habibi!_ Where are you?!"

The party had been well and truly in a panic even before the rift closed, but Bakura had gone from numb to hyper to flat-out derealised in a matter of seconds before bolting.

 _Not in the living room –_

Malik had had to leave a hysterical Kek with Yugi and Atem while he tracked down his dissociating lover. The whole situation was a nightmare incarnate.

 _Not in the kitchen - a knife was missing from the block -_

"Bakura!"

 _Only one room left –_

"Suffer! Bleed! Die!" came a shout that, despite being rough with heart-wrenching emotion, made Malik cry out in relief.

The door to the bathroom was locked. There was no use hammering, Bakura wasn't likely to open it. Instead, Malik dropped to his knees and pressed his eye up to the tiny gap between the door and the ground. Inside, he could just about see Bakura's battered Converse up against the sink, but that was all. "Don't do this, Bakura!"

"I'm going to kill him!"

"No! I know you're scared, but you won't bring Ryou back this way!" Malik's voice cracked a little, his chest tightening. "Bakura, please…don't do this."

Several fat, shining drops of scarlet blood fell to the floor. Malik heard Bakura's breathing grow unsteady, quick, restless. "I've got to. You can't stop me."

"Please come out. Please. Let's talk about this."

"I can't."

Malik couldn't tear his gaze away from the blood that continued to fall, puddling around Bakura's feet. "Bakura, baby…please."

Something seemed to snap in Bakura's state of mind, and the violence in his voice dropped like dead weight. When he next spoke, it was breathy and filled with terror.

"Ryou is gone because of me!"

"This wasn't your fault!"

"If we hadn't gone on this damn stupid fucking fetch quest, this never would have happened!"

"We knew there would be danger when we stepped in there, Bakura. We all accepted that." Malik pressed his forehead to the worn carpet, as if prostrating himself before a noble lord, but all that was before him was a beaten-up door, and a spreading puddle of blood. "Ryou sacrificed himself so that we could be safe. Don't let that be in vain. We need to regroup and get back in there, so we can kick the ass of the son of a bitch that forced Ryou's hand, but we can't do it without you and Diabound."

Tears welled up in Malik's eyes, burning pools of water that he tried to blink back without success. _"Ya hayati..._ I love you. Come out...please. We can't lose you too."

 _Drip._

 _Drip._

 _Drip._

The sound of blood hitting the floor was the only reply for several long seconds. Bakura's breathing hitched, and trembled, then there was a clatter of steel on porcelain, and the bathroom door was flung open with a mighty slam. Malik gazed up into Bakura's face, seeing the ragged lacerations and the blood staining his deathly white skin, and at once he understood. Without the energy to stand, he clutched at the leg of Bakura's jeans and broke down into grief-stricken wails.

"You idiot, you damn fucking idiot! You scared me so much!"

Warm arms wrapped around his shoulders, and hot droplets of liquid slid through his hair. Bakura's blood, Bakura's tears, Malik didn't give a damn. He closed his eyes and nestled into Bakura, trying to convey without words just how much the former thief meant to him. Actions over words - that always was Bakura's way.

"What have you done to me?" Bakura whispered. "I was never this soft until I met you. Dammit, Ishtar, I really do hate you."


	2. Chapter 2

Sometimes the fog still clouded his mind, and the world around him. Sometimes, he yearned to shut down, to lose the ability to speak and block out his surroundings when it all got too much. But he was getting better…gradually, he was getting better.

The fresh start was going to be a good one, Malik just knew it. The last few years had been hard, but he was on the right track now, and Domino had always been the place in his heart. Egypt harboured too many traumatic memories, and Japan wasn't much better, but the latter had been where he'd started to piece his life together…

…That is, until the confusion.

He'd blamed Ryou and Yugi at first, ever the type to deny his own involvement, barely able to regulate his mental health without his dark side to do it for him. But that was then, and this was now, and Malik wasn't going to let the past get to him anymore. He'd gotten Isis and Rishid's blessings, packed up what little he owned, and bought a one-way plane ticket to Tokyo before hiring a car and speeding towards Domino.

Now, he was curled up in a comfortable armchair, half-asleep, simply _enjoying_ his existence. Never had he felt so at peace with the world.

"Malik…it's okay to go to bed if you're tired," came a soft, polite voice from somewhere just above Malik's head, and he glanced up with an amused smile. Ryou hovered over him, his ever-present mug of hot tea in his hands. Ryou had happily opened his home to Malik for as long as he needed it. He would find his own place eventually, but there really was no rush as far as either of them were concerned.

Malik pushed himself a little more upright. "Sorry, Ryou," he laughed. "Just…damn, this chair is comfy."

"It is, isn't it?" Ryou echoed Malik's laugh as he settled down on the nearby sofa, cradling his mug to his chest. "Kek's pretty much claimed that chair as his own by now, so count yourself lucky he's at work. Really, though, don't worry about the hour. You must still be pretty jet-lagged. Please don't stay up on my account."

Ryou had barely changed at all in the seven years since the Ceremonial Duel, ever the sweet, polite, unashamed gaming nerd. His face was sharper now, more angular, but his tumbling white mane of hair, plump cheeks, and twinkling brown eyes ever lingered, casting a soft, delicate youthfulness across his deceptive twenty-five years.

"I'm fine, honestly," Malik insisted.

"Would some caffeine perk you up a bit?"

"You bet."

Ryou smiled gently. "I'll make you another coffee."

"Thanks, honey."

Ryou hopped up from the sofa, disappearing into the kitchen and returning a few minutes later with a large mug of black coffee. "So," he said as he passed the mug to Malik, "how do you feel about…you know…being back around all of us now? I know it was really hard for you."

Malik shook his head. "It wasn't your fault," he replied. "None of us expected the Cube to react with your Ouija board, and it wasn't like you were _attempting_ to yank anybody out of the afterlife, so…"

"I think we all got the shock of our lives that day, huh?"

"You can say that again."

"Look, Malik…I know it wasn't all down to us, but…" Ryou sighed sadly. "I'm so, so, sorry. I never imagined that this would happen, and when I heard you'd checked yourself into a psych facility afterwards, I just couldn't stop worrying about you. Yugi was pretty much the same. We were absolute wrecks."

"It's okay, honey…Ryou, it's okay, really." Malik put his mug down and hopped off the sofa and into Ryou's lap. They were intimate enough as friends that they cared little for personal space, and Ryou welcomed the gesture by burying his head against Malik's shoulder and holding his hips gently. "You have to remember," Malik said, "that my fucked-up mental health was a problem long before any of this happened. _None_ of this was your fault, okay?"

Ryou gazed up at Malik. "I wish I could take it all back," he whispered. "Take it all back, like it never happened, so I never had to see you in that much pain ever again."

"Don't be silly. You and Kek love each other. You'd honestly toss him back to the Shadows, just so I wouldn't freak out?"

"Well, no, but I – "

"Ryou…stop." Malik kissed Ryou's brow. "Look, there are ups and downs to everything. I went a bit crazy, but you got a great boyfriend out of all this, and Yugi's got his best friend back, so it worked out pretty well."

"You're forgetting about Bakura."

Malik paused, frowning. He slid off Ryou's lap and back into his armchair, sipping his coffee. He hadn't forgotten Bakura, but broaching the subject of his former partner in crime was something he had been struggling with ever since Kek told him about his condition. Kek had dropped Malik's phone number off at Bakura's place the day Malik arrived in Domino, but nobody had heard anything from him…not that Malik had expected much. He knew Bakura, knew his pride and his stubbornness. There was no way he was going to own up to wanting to see his old friend again.


	3. Chapter 3

A swaddle of blankets and oversized loungewear occupied the beaten-up, second hand sofa, intent on nursing off a thumping hangover and failing rather spectacularly.

Every day panned out the same for Bakura. After rolling out of bed – or off the sofa, depending on where he'd crashed the night before – somewhere near midday, he would clear his head with copious amounts of coffee, then sit down in front of his laptop to work till evening. After that, it was video games and drinking himself into a stupor in preparation for the next day.

Wake. Work. Drink. Sleep. Rinse and repeat. Day in, day out.

Sometimes his "schedule" was broken by the odd visitor, but he'd quickly learned that leaving the curtains drawn and the lights off kept most people away.

However, the exception to that rule currently hammered on his front door while yelling curses of an increasingly threatening tone. Hence, failing at giving his aforementioned hangover the boot.

Rubbing his sore head, Bakura slammed his laptop screen down and hauled himself to his feet. Throwing the door open, the frustrated noise that rumbled from Bakura's throat was reminiscent of an angry bitch defending her pups.

"Can you fucking not, Kek? Seriously?!"

"You never open the door otherwise." Kek shoved Bakura aside and strolled into the tiny apartment as if he owned the place. A bulging plastic bag swung from the crook of his arm, and he set it down on the kitchen counter, starting to pull various items out. "Has your shower even _seen_ you in the last week? You look like hell."

Bakura didn't answer, merely folded his arms and glowered venomously at Kek, hating him.

Malik's former shadow, at a good six feet six, towered over Bakura's modest size of over a foot shorter. With his broader nose, thinner lips and darker eyes, he could have passed for a relative of Malik's, but it was clear that this body was Kek's, and Kek's alone. He had taken to the adjustment to life remarkably better than Bakura - so much so that it was hard to believe he had once literally flayed the skin off his own father.

Bakura would have been envious of the multitude of positive change within Kek, had he been able to muster up the motivation. Instead, he continued to scowl at Kek as he stocked up Bakura's fridge and cupboards.

"Are you done?" Bakura finally hissed, fed up. "You do realise I'm on the clock, don't you? I have work to do!"

Kek rolled his eyes. "I know, right? How dare Ryou be afraid you'll starve to death! Jeez, Bakura. It's not like I ever actually _want_ to come over to your filthy hell-hole, but Ryou's too nice for his own good. For some reason, he's still maintaining that _someone_ needs to keep an eye on you, you hopeless drunk."

"Fuck. You."

"Take a shower, clean this place up, and I swear to Anubis, run a vacuum around once in a while or I _will_ send Ryou over in full housemaid regalia. That one doesn't tend to leave our bedroom, so you'd better be honoured." Kek flashed a wicked smirk at Bakura, enjoying how easy it was to rile him up.

"Get the fuck out of my apartment, Kek, before I find some way to send your sorry ass back to the Shadows," Bakura growled. Not that the thought of his former host in stockings and a frilly apron was at all unappealing, but Bakura was not in the mood to humour Kek.

"Yeah, yeah." Kek slipped the bag back onto his arm and breezed past Bakura. His hand rested on the front door handle when something appeared to stir in his memory. "Oh! Before I forget…got something else for you."

"What now?!" Bakura exploded.

 _"Bismillah!_ Chill out for once in your life, Bakura." Kek dug into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. He held it out to Bakura, who eyed it warily. "It's only a fucking phone number, you dork," Kek muttered. "Just take it already."

After a moment's hesitation, Bakura took it. "I'm not in the mood for you to be setting me up on some stupid date, so it had better not be – "

"It's Malik's."

A flicker of positive emotion lit up Bakura's face, but it was fleeting, his features rapidly settling back into their comfortable scowl. "Why?" he asked, a single syllable of uncertainty.

"He's back in Domino."

"Oh? Finally out of the loony bin, is he?"

Kek's expression hardened and his hands flexed as if itching to throw a punch. After a few deep breaths, he turned back to the door. "Call him."

"I…"

"Don't screw this up, Bakura." With that final warning, Kek opened the door and walked out into the dingy hallway of the apartment building.

Bakura watched him go, the paper with Malik's number clenched tightly in his hand. He barely noticed how he trembled.

 _Malik…dammit, I've missed you, you stupid idiot._


	4. Chapter 4

Night rolled around quickly enough, but when it came down to it, Malik couldn't sleep at all. The jet lag had worn off a little now, but his mind still buzzed, alive and curious like so many droves of bees.

He found himself thinking, even in their fractured snippets, about the confusion...

 _It feels like forever since...no, I guess I...maybe I've just shut it out entirely._ Malik rolled over and squinted at the luminescent numbers on the clock near his head. _Unfortunate events follow those who danced with the Shadows...none of us are the exception to that rule._

Malik had been present, two years ago, when Ryou and Yugi accidentally pulled Bakura, Kek, and Atem from whatever otherworldly plains had claimed them. The resulting dissociative fugue left Malik remembering little of what happened during that time, but clearer than anything, he could recall the panic above him from his friends...

 _"He's not responding to me, Ryou!"_

 _"Hang on, just calm down a moment..."_

 _Dimly he was aware of Yugi crouching beside him, and Ryou pacing the room, but nothing in that moment could have made Malik capable of looking up or speaking._

 _That's when a deep-set scowl, framed by a white cloud of hair, floated into his vision. Bakura grabbed Malik's chin and forced his face level with his own, staring a moment with an expression that could only be described, even in his shutdown state, as pure disgust._

 _"The pathetic little narcissist just wants attention. Leave him be."_

Bakura had said many things to Malik in their short time together, though never anything as hurtful as that. Malik knew his mental health was completely shot, and he had done all he could over the years to manage it, so for Bakura to claim that he was breaking down purely to be noticed…it stung like a slap to the face.

 _Bakura is the one that could be accused of wanting attention now._ Malik's fingers toyed idly with a corner of the blanket. _Something is wrong, and he's not letting anyone close enough to be able to help him._

 _I don't think I can just lie here and wait for him to come to me. It's not going to happen._

The floorboards creaked slightly under Malik's weight as he swung himself out of bed. He dressed quickly, not bothering to make himself look presentable, and went downstairs, following the faint sounds of video games and muttered swearing.

He found Kek curled up under a blanket on the sofa, balancing a can of energy drink on his knee and playing _Final Fantasy IX_ on Ryou's old PlayStation. He looked so at ease with the world that Malik had to remind himself, for the millionth time, that this was real, that Kek was real, a human, with his own body and his own life that didn't involve slaughtering people or challenging them to Shadow Games.

"Not tired, _akhun?"_ Kek asked, without looking at Malik. His nose scrunched up in a little frown as he tapped with rapid-fire speed on the controller, moving a moustachioed frog towards a set of weights.

Malik couldn't help but smile at the affectionate use of his native tongue. Kek rarely spoke Arabic, and he wasn't _exactly_ his brother, but being called as such was heart-warming, a sign that Kek really was trying his best to be everything Malik had lacked from his former alter in the past.

"I'm exhausted, but I can't sleep," Malik told him. "I've decided to go and see Bakura."

Kek's frown deepened. He paused the game and put the controller aside, motioning for Malik to sit down on the sofa. "You don't think it's better to see if he gets in touch?" he asked, and Malik shook his head. "About time someone properly tries to knock some sense into the stupid bastard, I guess," Kek shrugged. "Are you driving? I can take you if you want."

Malik had to mentally slap himself again at the thought of Kek passing his driving test without murdering the examiner. "Nah, I know where I'm going. I think I'd prefer the walk, anyway."

"Text me when you arrive, okay?"

"I will. Thanks, _akhun."_

Kek grinned, pleased. A light blush darkened his copper cheeks. "Yeah, yeah. Get going, pipsqueak."

Malik gave Kek's shoulder a light punch in farewell, and Kek chuckled, going back to his game. A quick rummage around later for his shoes and jacket, and Malik was traipsing down the dimly lit street, occasionally glancing about warily. This area of Domino had a reputation for being a little rough, and Malik had a switchblade in the inside pocket of his jacket, but he didn't exactly fancy needing to pull it out anytime soon.

A bitter chill hung in the night air, the air too bracing and the wind too sharp. It took a good forty minutes to walk to the opposite side of the city where Bakura lived, and more than once Malik regretted not taking Kek up on his offer to drive him over. He tugged his jacket a little tighter around himself and scowled, pushing through the discomfort.

Eventually Malik stood in front of a small apartment building. Long, swaying rows of grass grew wild either side of the path to the front door, and when Malik tried the door itself, he found it swung inwards of its own accord with a teeth-clenching screech. _Jeez, why would he_ choose _to live here? What a complete dump._

Malik stepped into the main hallway and wrinkled his nose at the smell of damp and mildew hanging thickly in the air. He double-checked his messages on his phone for the door number that Kek had sent him, and sent a quick text to let Kek know he'd arrived. Barely ten seconds later, he received a "thumbs up," and Malik tucked his phone away as he used his free hand to knock on Bakura's front door.

No response.

At two in the morning, that was to be expected for most people, but Bakura wasn't most people, and Malik knew he'd still be up. Ryou had warned him of Bakura's habit of ignoring visitors, but Malik wasn't one to take ignorance lying down. He continued to pound on the door, his scowl growing deeper with each passing second.

Malik's temper flared. "Right, you wanna play games with me?" he growled, spinning on his heel and stalking away. "It is _on,_ fuckface."

Bakura lived on the ground floor, and it was easy enough to walk round the side of the building and know which of the windows belonged to his apartment. Malik rattled and prodded the frames of the nearest one, looking for any weak spots in the peeling wood, when the next window along caught his eye. To his amused delight, it was slightly open, and pulled out further when Malik tested it. He pulled his jacket off, tied the worn faux-leather round his waist, and hoisted himself upwards and through the tight opening the window afforded him.

It was a bit of a squeeze, despite Malik's slender build, but with some wriggling, he slid through and –

…crash-landed face-first into the kitchen sink.

 _Well, what a glorious start to our reunion this is going to be._


	5. Chapter 5

Making a grand entrance usually held vital importance to Malik, but toppling into an overflowing sink and receiving a face-full of water in the process hadn't been high up on his agenda. Amidst the wetness coating his skin and hair, he became aware of iron-scented warmth dripping down his cheek, a direct result of the smashed crockery beneath him. To make matters worse, he couldn't see a thing in his right eye.

 _God fucking dammit, how did I manage to lose_ one _contact lens?_

If the sound of a potential burglar entering the apartment didn't pique Bakura's interest, he didn't know what would. True to thought, a loud yell rang out from the next room.

"I swear to fucking god, Kek, if that's you, I am going to garrotte you with Ryou's washing line and string your guts up on it!"

Malik had to wonder how many times Kek had forced his way into Bakura's living space for him to automatically assume the source of all the clamour. He clambered out of the sink, and brushed his wet hair back from his face, and walked towards the doorway. "Close, but not quite."

A slight pause. Then -

"Ishtar, what the bloody hell were you doing climbing through my window?"

"You wouldn't answer the door."

"A sane person would take that to mean I don't want anyone in here."

Malik ignored the pointed quip. He reached the living room and closed his blurry right eye, squinting with the other. The room might as well have been pitch-black for all the good it did; he couldn't see Bakura anywhere. Malik had mostly gotten over his initiation-borne fear of darkness, but the gloom still pressed upon him uncomfortably for reasons completely unrelated to the scars on his back. "Where are you?"

"Go _away,_ Malik."

"Hell, no. Fucking show yourself, I'm half-blind right now."

A low groan resounded from somewhere near the floor, and a lamp flickered on in the corner, bathing the room in soft, red-hued light. Able to take in his surroundings at last, Malik peered around and tried to ignore the itching discomfort in his lens-less eye.

What he saw left him aghast, to say the least. Bakura clearly didn't care for being house-proud, and could only be described as living in chaos. Dust coated every surface, and various items of dirty crockery littered the low table in the middle of the tiny room, interspersed with bottles of spirits in varying degrees of emptiness. The switched-on lamp in question sat on a corner table beside an old sofa, and on the floor, leaning back against said sofa, emerged a dull mass of limbs and tangled hair that vaguely resembled Malik's old friend.

 _Oh, Bakura…what happened to you?_

He'd been warned that Bakura had fallen on hard times, but he'd never imagined it could be _this_ bad. He was an utter mess. Listless brown eyes, set deep in a gaunt face and framed by locks of untamed platinum, glared up at Malik. Dark circles shadowed the deadened orbs, and even with his poor vision, Malik shivered as Bakura's gaze burned through to his very soul.

Seeing Bakura in such a state had all sorts of odd emotions thundering through Malik's veins, but before he could rush over and sweep him into his arms, his mouth got the better of him.

"What the hell, Bakura? You're too proud for shit like this. The fuck is wrong with you?!"

"Fuck you. Barging in here and laying into me like I even give half a shit." A slur twisted Bakura's words, beset with exhaustion, world-weariness, and a touch of booze-induced drowsiness. "Didn't the radio silence on my end tell you idiots anything? I don't want to see you, Ishtar."

"Well, tough shit," Malik shrugged. "I didn't really believe how much of a fuck-up you'd become, but I had to come see it for myself."

Bakura bristled with anger, a dangerous gleam flashing in his eyes. "I'm sure you've seen enough now, so...dammit, quit _squinting_ at me like that!"

"Sorry," Malik murmured, rubbing his eye. "I dropped a lens in your sink. I can barely see."

Bakura raised an eyebrow. "Since when do you wear lenses?"

"Since I realised that I saw better through the eyes of my Ghouls than I did through my own – look, can we not talk about this right now?" Malik sat on the sofa, ignoring Bakura's venom-soaked glare. Resigning himself to an evening of magnified eyes, Malik removed his remaining lens and flicked it into the nearest mug he could focus on, before reaching into his pocket for the case that held his glasses.

Bakura burst out laughing when Malik opened the case and slipped the slim, black frames on. "You look ridiculous."

"Says the alcoholic sprawled out on the floor," Malik snapped. "Why are you even sat down there?"

"I had a fight with the floor, and the floor won." Bakura started flicking through his phone absently, playing a game. "Are you done here?"

"Fuck you, Bakura. Like hell I'm done."

Bakura grunted in acknowledgement. "Figures." His eyes remained firmly on his phone as he continued to play his game.

Malik would get little else out of his old friend by this point and stood up to find the bathroom. It proved to be just as untidy as the rest of the apartment; Malik's brow furrowed at the overflowing laundry basket and the thick layer of dust under his feet. "Bakura, why is there no mirror in your bathroom?" Malik called out.

"Should there be?"

"There's a big mark over the sink where a mirror _used_ to be."

"Bite me, Ishtar."

Malik settled for using his phone camera, snapping a picture and looking at that instead. The cut wasn't as bad as he thought, and he rinsed it off carefully, then splashed water over the rest of his face and towelled his hair as dry as he could get it. He didn't feel any cleaner, but it was better than old dishwater covering him.

In the two minutes it had taken for Malik to clean himself up and return to the living room, Bakura had fallen asleep with his head on his knees, phone still shining brightly in his hand. Malik knelt beside him, reaching out to turn the phone screen off. The smell of alcohol and general neglect hung heavy around Bakura, the kind that spoke volumes about how little one cared for themselves anymore. Malik gently stroked Bakura's wild mop of hair, wishing he knew what to do for him.

The tell-tale headache of frustration and anger began to build within him, but…

 _I understand, I guess…how easy it is to sink into the blackness of despair._

The trouble was that Bakura seemingly had no intention of pulling himself out. Ryou had tried, Kek had tried, but all their attempts had been met with staunch disinterest. Malik, however, had learned a thing or two from Yugi, and he wasn't ever one to back down from a challenge. He slid an arm round Bakura's back and another under his knees, hauling him, with some difficulty, into a position where he could manoeuvre him. Malik's scarred back screamed in protest, seizing up in response to the intense strain being placed on it, but Malik forced himself to breathe heavily through it, until Bakura had been safely deposited onto the sofa.

 _He's so light…jeez, how much weight has he lost since Battle City?_

Bakura didn't stir, even when Malik started gathering up the multitude of ceramic and glass from the table, creating an almighty racket in the process. _Well and truly out for the count._

He didn't know quite _why_ he had decided to tidy Bakura's apartment at three in the morning, but the place was filthy, and he knew Bakura wasn't likely to handle it himself. At the very least, he deserved to wake up to a nice environment. Malik cleared away the broken crockery from the sink, washed the remaining lot, then swept, dusted, sprayed and mopped, even found a geriatric-looking vacuum cleaner and ran it round the living room. Bakura didn't so much as move his head, despite the roar of the vacuum a few feet away, though his snores could have put him in the running for a gold medal against the old banger.

Malik didn't go near Bakura's bedroom; something told him he'd be massively overstepping his already mouldering boundaries. _I'm probably doing enough to invade Bakura's personal space and privacy as it is, and…_

He winced, rolling his sore shoulders. _Damn, I'm so tired..._

His muscles ached, his back felt tight and stiff, and that armchair practically begged to be sat in…Malik dropped onto the soft cushions and closed his eyes, meaning to rest for just a moment…


	6. Chapter 6

******_Slipping in a content warning here for vomiting at the beginning of the chapter._**

* * *

Bakura awoke to an unpleasant sensation in his throat, like thousands of needles he'd been forced to swallow, and a distinct churning in his stomach that could only mean one thing - he'd overdone it on the booze again.

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck - !_

He jumped off the sofa, clapped a hand over his mouth as the first involuntary retch doubled him over, and stumbled to the bathroom. He slumped against the toilet and heaved; nothing much came up in the end, but the telltale nasty, sour taste in his mouth lingered afterwards. A trembling hand fumbled blindly to flush the toilet, then he hauled himself upright and leaned against the sink to rinse his mouth out and brush his teeth.

 _Hang on a sec…_ Bakura glanced around the room, frowning as he brushed. He could have sworn that the last time his shower shone like polished gemstone, it had been when he'd moved in, and that must have been almost a year ago now. _Did I clean up last night? I don't remember doing that…_

"Bakura? Are you okay?"

The soft call from outside the bathroom door nearly made Bakura jump out of his skin in shock, and with that, the memories of the previous night flooded back. The _nerve_ of him, to still be here!

Bakura threw his toothbrush into the sink and flung the door open, ready to snarl a multitude of threats in Malik's face -

Or that's what would have happened, had a mug of dark, heavenly goodness not appeared suddenly under his nose. Bakura stopped mid-snarl and jerked his head back, dark eyes scrutinising Malik warily. The young Egyptian looked as tired as Bakura felt, but the earnestness in his gaze made even Bakura's hardened heart soften a little. Damn it, Malik had always been too pretty for his own good.

Malik continued to hold the mug out with a small attempt at a smile. "I, ah…heard you throwing up, but I didn't really know what to do. Coffee usually makes me feel better, so…" Malik shook his head, smile dropping into a blush and a frown. "I mean…you don't have to drink it. I just thought maybe – "

Bakura blinked, his surprise doubling. Malik stuttering and stumbling over his words, like Ryou often did when he was nervous, took him aback completely. It was weird, and he didn't like it; it was clear that Malik wasn't used to feeling like he needed to care for someone.

With cat-like reflexes that even a throbbing hangover couldn't dull, Bakura snatched the mug from Malik's grasp and cradled it to his chest. The soothing warmth sank into his skin, a reminder that not everything in his life had to be cold and dark. "What are you still doing here?" he demanded of Malik. "Don't you have better things to do than bother me?"

"Not really," Malik shrugged. "I mean, I cleaned your apartment. That should probably tell you I have way too much time on my hands."

"Fuck you, Ishtar, don't touch my stuff."

"Kura, around 80% of "your stuff" appears to be vodka."

"Again, fuck you." Bakura pinched the bridge of his nose. "And don't even try that sappy nickname with me. That's what Ryou does when he wants something from me."

"What could Ryou possibly ever want from you? Look at the state of you!" Malik folded his arms and glared. "You of all people, drowning yourself in booze and shutting out everyone who ever tries to care for you. You're breaking Ryou's heart, pissing Kek off, and making Yugi go out of his mind with guilt. Atem at least doesn't seem to give a shit about you, and I wish I didn't, too, but I'm not having it, you fucked-up waste of space."

Malik's voice rose in his passion, cheeks flushing with anger. "I am not going to stand by and watch you throw your life away like this, do you hear me?" he yelled. "It's not fair!"

Once upon a time, Bakura would have exploded with rage, possibly flung his mug at the wall, screamed in Malik's face that nobody knew the concept of unfairness better than Bakura did...but he'd long since lost any will to fight his corner, so instead, he just grunted, pushed Malik aside, and trailed to the sofa before collapsing on it and curling up, sipping his coffee. Malik stared after him, his wide eyes magnified by the ridiculous glasses he wore.

"Where are you staying?" Bakura asked. His eyes trained firmly onto his mug with a resolve to steer well clear of Malik.

"At Ryou and Kek's place for the time being." Malik moved a little closer, eyebrows raised. "Why? You're not inviting me to stay here, are you?"

Bakura snorted. "Fuck, no. I don't want some kid running around under my nose all the time."

"Bakura, I'm twenty-five, not ten."

"Has it really been that long?"

"You'd probably have noticed if you hadn't become such a fucking drunk."

Malik's words should have stung. They should have been slapping some sense into Bakura and making him realise there was more to life than wallowing in his own guilt and self-pity; this he knew for a fact, he wasn't ignorant to psychology. What a shame, then, that he just didn't give enough of a fuck to care.

Bakura turned away from Malik completely. The act was childish, but he didn't feel up to indulging his old friend's ridiculous attempt at altruism. "Feel free to come back when I'm not hungover as hell, Ishtar, but I just don't want to deal with you right now, okay?"

"Bitch, you're always hungover."

"So see you never, then."

"You're a piece of work, you know that?"

"When have I ever not been? Now, are you done? Why don't you saunter off back to Ryou's and put some contacts in - you don't suit the four-eyed look."

That was enough for Malik's jaw to tighten considerably, and Bakura grinned into his coffee, knowing he'd won. "Hmph, say it like you mean it, Bakura," Malik sniffed.

"Sure thing!" Bakura looked up, a false, sickly-sweet tone creeping into his voice. "In fact, I'll even spell it out for you, word by word - _I'm. Fucking. Sick. Of. Looking. At. Your. Stupid. Face!_ There, wasn't that easy to understand?"

Malik's cheeks flushed with obvious fury. With no more words, he turned on his heel, flipped the latch on the front door, and marched out, letting the door slam behind him.

 _Good fucking morning to you too!_ Bakura drained the rest of his coffee and dropped the empty mug to the floor before lying back down. Malik was a pain in the ass, but he could deal with that later…after he'd caught another few hours of sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

"I don't think I've ever been so pissed off at someone in my entire life!" Malik groaned, dropping his forehead dramatically to the table with a _thump._

It had been a week after Malik had stormed out of Bakura's apartment, and, as had been expected, there had been radio silence on Bakura's end. Malik had gone over to the Kame Game Shop to say hi to Yugi and Atem, and somehow he'd ended up being dragged into a tag duel, him and Yugi vs Ryou –Yugi had called him to come over – and Atem. Even with Yugi on Malik's side, having Atem as an opponent meant he was currently getting well and truly steamrollered. With nothing but Bakura on his mind, it was impossible to concentrate on the game.

Yugi patted Malik's hand, his array of silver bangles jangling merrily. "Well, you tried, so at least you can say that," he said. "Mind you…we've all tried."

"I haven't," Atem sniffed, placing two cards face-down. "What's the point?"

 _"Mou hitori no boku,_ I think Malik needs a little reassurance here that it isn't his fault."

"My apologies, _aibou._ It's…difficult to muster up any motivation where Bakura is concerned. Ah, my turn's over. Your move, Malik."

Malik drew a card, shook his head, and went to attack Atem's Dark Magician with his Masked Beast Des Gardius, but Atem grinned, flipping up a Trap card, Negate Attack. Malik swore and growled, displeased. "God dammit, Atem. I end my turn."

"Easy, Malik," Atem said. "It's only a game, after all, and you've played some great moves so far. I'm impressed." The former Pharaoh leaned back in his chair, relaxed and confident as always. Being back in the world of the living suited him immensely, and he wore his love of life like a regal crown, befitting of his status – though in his loose, brightly coloured linens, and with his hair twisted into dense dreadlocks, he looked less like a king and more like a regular at Woodstock.

"Yeah!" Yugi agreed, smiling gratefully at his Egyptian counterpart. "You've really come a long way, Malik. You should be proud."

"Really?"

"Oh, yeah. You weren't all that confident just a few years ago, but now you're kicking ass."

That made Malik smile. "Aw, thanks, Yugi."

"My turn." Ryou drew a card and fanned out his hand, eyeing them with a slight frown creasing his delicate features. "Hmmm…"

"What are you thinking, Ryou?" Atem asked.

Ryou grinned, suddenly pleased. "I'm thinking that I need to banish this…and this…and this," – he removed three Fiend monsters from their Graveyard, - "to summon Dark Necrofear in face-up defence mode. She has 2,800 defence points, so I should be safe for a while. Okay, I'll end my turn now."

"Oh, fuck this!" Malik groaned. "My attack points are higher at 3,300, but you'll take control of Des Gardius if I attack her."

Ryou batted his eyelashes across the table. "Oh goodness, did I throw a spanner in the works, Malik?"

It was Yugi's turn, and he drew a card, Palladium Oracle Mahad. A wicked smirk spread across his face as he revealed it to his opponents, as per the card requirements. "Allow me to remove said spanner," he purred, "by activating Enemy Controller," - he flipped up a Spell card already on the field, – "and sacrificing my face-down Monster card," - which turned out to be Gold Gadget, – "to take control of Dark Necrofear."

"Son of a fuck!" Ryou cursed.

"In addition, I drew Palladium Oracle Mahad, which I can now Special Summon in attack mode." Yugi did so, his smirk widening. "I also play the Spell card Book of Secret Arts to raise Palladium Oracle Mahad's attack and defence points by 300 each. He now has 2,800 attack points, and if he battles a Dark-type Monster, that will double to 5,600. Atem, I attack your Dark Magician with Palladium Oracle Mahad, and then attack your Life Points directly with Des Gardius!"

Atem placed his cards on the table and chuckled. "You win, _aibou._ Well done indeed."

Yugi blew him a kiss. "Never a dull duel with you, _mou hitori no boku."_

"It's a bit mean that you used one Mahad to defeat another Mahad," Ryou laughed, "and sacrificed my beloved Dark Necrofear to do it! Why, Yugi, I'm hurt."

"It was fucking brilliant," Malik said, busy sorting all the cards back into whose belonged to whom. "Nice one, Yugi."

They tidied the cards away and traipsed back onto the shop floor, as it was Atem's turn to man the counter after grandpa Sugoroku. While Ryou chatted with Atem about the latest Monster World campaign they'd been building together, Malik and Yugi stepped away, under the pretence of inspecting a new box of Duel Monsters booster packs.

"You know," Yugi said quietly, "I think you're the only one who's going to snap Bakura out of his depression. Please don't give up. He needs someone who'll always be there for him."

"Surely Ryou is the perfect fit for that," Malik murmured in response.

"Well, keep this between you and me, but I think Bakura feels guilty for a lot that Ryou can't help him with." Yugi dropped his voice further. "But you were his equal, his partner. He never did anything to you that you weren't capable of fighting back just as hard with. So, in a way, he owes you nothing. He's got a steady, even footing with you. And I think that would do more for him than he could ever imagine."

Malik pondered this a moment. Bakura, the sardonic, cool, calculating former spirit, feeling guilty? Was that even possible?

He glanced over his shoulder, watching Atem and Ryou converse happily, before turning back to Yugi. "Kek does a lot of tough love with Bakura," he said, "but that doesn't seem to work. It's probably the same thing I'd do with him by default, so I'm a little worried he'd just block me out as well."

"Kek's too much of an enabler," Yugi shrugged, "and that's Ryou's influence, I think. Sure, he argues with Bakura and gives him an earful, but at the same time he'll go shopping for him if he sees there's no food in the house."

 _Well, damn._

Malik never thought of his former alter as enabling before, but again, it made sense. Yugi was completely spot-on with all his observations; he had to give the King of Games credit, his brain had space for more than just strategy and puzzles. Maybe it was all that growing he'd done over the last few years.

 _Bakura's…partner? We hadn't even known each other all that long back then, but…there's little else I could have used to describe us._

At that moment, a buzz in his pocket alerted him to a text message, and he fished his phone out of his pocket, expecting to see Isis or Rishid's name flash up onscreen. Instead, there was just a number, and below that, a short message:

 _Games later?_

Malik laughed as he typed out his response. How very like Bakura to simply pretend that their earlier interaction hadn't happened at all.

 _Sure. Your place or Ryou's?_

 _I'll come to Ryou's._

"Ryou, honey?" Malik called out over his shoulder, and Ryou glanced up with a smile at the affectionate name. "The wild Bakura has emerged from his hibernation, and is beginning to explore the outside world."

Ryou's mouth dropped. "He's actually coming out?"

"Yep. Games night at yours?"

"Hell yes!" Ryou crowed, clasping his hands and jumping up and down in joy. "Oh, my goodness! This is wonderful! What did you _do_ to him?"

 _Fell through his window, cleaned his apartment, gave him coffee and yelled a bit. Who'd have thought that was all it took?_


	8. Chapter 8

**_Content warnings for fragile mental health, calming and grounding._**

* * *

Bakura uttered a deep, relaxed sigh as scalding hot water rained down over him. He'd forgotten how wonderful showering felt, especially when everything around him was so damn _clean._ The scents of lavender and frankincense drifted through the steamy air from his toiletries, scents Ryou had said were good for relaxing and letting go of past fears, but Bakura liked them because they weren't stereotypically "male" smelling. Fuck gender conformity, Bakura did what he wanted, and today he wanted to smell like an Egyptian marketplace.

The day had been a stable one, so he'd spent the majority of the afternoon tidying the apartment and organising his junk. Contrary to popular belief, those good days did happen…sometimes. Not often, but it was those times that Bakura felt motivated to leave the house, fob his work off for the day, spend time with the people that could actually tolerate him for more than five seconds at a time.

But it wasn't Malik's influence…nope, he had absolutely nothing to do with the low, cheery humming now emanating from Bakura as he scrubbed shampoo through his hair. The silly boy just happened to catch Bakura at a point where he was starting to lift himself up a little; the thought of spending the evening with Malik was like an itch he couldn't scratch – annoying and a massive distraction.

And yet…Bakura was finding himself looking forward to seeing him again, despite having had to buy more plates as a result of Malik's little stunt with the window. Rolling his eyes at the memory, Bakura reached round the shower curtain for the glass of vodka sitting on the side of the sink, took a sip, and set it back down so he could rinse his hair.

A few minutes later saw him out of the shower, tapping his fingers on the handle of a razor as he ran his free hand over the rough stubble shadowing his jaw, debating if it was worth attempting to shave. With no mirrors in his apartment, that was usually tricky at best. He settled for carefully feeling his way around his cheeks and jawline with one hand, and tentatively dragging the razor with the other.

Shaving went ahead easily enough, but finding clean clothes afterwards ended up being a completely different story; Bakura didn't so much as own a wardrobe than a floordrobe, and clean or dirty, everything piled onto the worn and threadbare carpet in his bedroom. Tidying up was fine, but Bakura drew the line at folding and putting away laundry. Eventually he pulled out a black shirt and blue jeans that looked as though they might have been recently washed, and threw them on, then tied his damp hair back in a ponytail to avoid the nightmare of having to brush out all the tangles.

 _Why the fuck am I making so much of an effort?_ Bakura scowled as he took another sip from his glass. _It's not like any of them are going to care what I look like._

Well, no…that was a lie. Ryou would fuss around him if he turned up in his usual dragged-backwards-through-a-hedge look, and Kek would probably throw a brush at his head. And Malik? Bakura was trying not to think too much about Malik at present, and failing dismally - there had been an inordinate amount of lavender eyes haunting his dreams as of late.

His cheeriness starting to fade as quickly as it had come on, Bakura threw the rest of the vodka down his throat and tossed the empty glass onto his bed, before grabbing his jacket from the hook beside the front door, and slipping on comfortable, well-worn Converse trainers. He took one last sweeping look around the apartment, hoped he'd drank enough booze to ward off the possibility of tremors later, and left.

He arrived at Ryou and Kek's house around half an hour later, having walked briskly. Kek sat cross-legged on the driveway, tinkering with an old motorbike. His face bore numerous oil smudges, his hair a rather sweaty mess, but somehow, he'd never looked more at home. In his slightly elevated mood, Bakura could now feel a pang of envy, which, needless to say, quickly dropped him back to his usual grouchy self.

"Hey, freakshow," he said by way of greeting. "Don't you ever stop playing with your toys?"

"Could say the same of you," Kek muttered. He was a mechanic's apprentice by day, but when at home, he could usually be found outside, working with anything relating to old scraps of metal. It served to keep his mind grounded and occupied, which, given his past tendencies, could only be a good thing. "You not working tonight, Bakura?"

"Nah. I've got some leave that needs using, anyway."

"You literally just add up numbers all day, at home, no less. What would you even need with leave?"

"It's called employee rights, asshole."

"Shut up and get inside before I throw engine oil at you."

Bakura snorted, nimbly sidestepping Kek, and made for the front door, finding it unlocked.

Ryou and Malik were in the kitchen, quietly playing chess at the table, but Ryou's eyes lit up the instant he saw Bakura lingering in the doorway. " Kura!" Ryou jumped up from the table with a gleeful smile, rushing over to throw his arms round Bakura's shoulders. Bakura stiffened, but allowed the close contact only because it was Ryou; anyone else who tried that would get a broken nose. He glanced over Ryou's shoulder at Malik, who gazed back with a soft, curious-looking expression.

"How have you been?" Ryou asked as he pulled away.

 _Oh, you know, the usual. Drunk, depressed, and wishing I was at the bottom of a well somewhere so I'm not a bother to you ever again._

The thought went unvoiced, as Bakura had seen Ryou's visage shatter in heartbreak one too many times for him to cope with, so instead he just gave a non-committal grunt and crossed the room to put the kettle on. "Busy with work. I gather you've been the same with university."

"You're not wrong," Ryou laughed. "I'm up to my ears in assignments."

Bakura noted the mugs next to the chess board. "Do you want another drink?"

"Oh, yes please," Ryou smiled.

"Malik?"

Malik glanced into his mug, nodded, then held it out. "Thanks, Bakura."

Bakura couldn't help the flicker of a smile that curved his lips, but he turned away quickly so nobody saw. He made up sweet, strong, milky tea for Ryou, and black coffee for himself and for Malik, remembering the Egyptian's disdain for dairy.

Ryou and Malik accepted their drinks with grateful murmurs as they focused on their match, moving their pieces with precise skill and intense concentration, and Bakura perched on a chair next to Ryou, eyes darting back and forth, watching the movement of the pieces. The flashes of black and white were oddly soothing, a fond reminder of the times he used to delight in waging war on his own enemies - only the pieces were usually more Pharaoh-shaped back then.

Ryou had been in "check" twice, but managed to get himself out of it by blocking Malik's pieces and taking a few for himself. However, this time, there was no way to escape as Malik moved his bishop.

 _"_ _Sheikh māt,"_ Malik said in his sultry Arabic purr. "I win, honey."

Ryou giggled and stuck out his hand for Malik to shake. "Great game! You're on a roll today."

"Nah, it was Yugi who won our duel earlier."

"You've been duelling as well?" Bakura asked, interest piqued.

"Yeah, it was great," Malik grinned. "Yugi took control of Ryou's Dark Necrofear and sacrificed her, then completely wiped the floor with Atem and won."

"He _what?!_ That tiny bastard sacrificed my baby? I'll kill him."

"Hey, if I'm not allowed to kill people, then neither are you." Kek's gruff words followed with heavy stomps of his boots as he strolled to the sink to wash soot and oil from his hands.

Bakura rolled his eyes as he sipped his coffee. "Ryou's got you so whipped, I doubt you even know how to stab someone anymore. You've lost your touch, freakshow."

"And I wouldn't have it any other way." Kek dried his hands, then draped himself over Ryou's back, letting his tongue loll out as he grinned madly and nuzzled Ryou. "Would I, snowflake?" He proceeded to kiss up Ryou's neck, making him squeal and squirm, before capturing his lips in a deep, dramatic, teenager-esque smooch.

 _"_ _Ya lahwy akhun!_ Get a room!" Malik laughed, throwing a bishop at Kek's head, but it only served to get caught in his stiff, wiry mop of hair. Kek responded to the outburst with a middle finger, then shoved his tongue into Ryou's mouth.

Happiness…

Love…

Security...

Bakura hadn't known such feelings in over three-thousand years, yet as he watched his former Host flit beteen swatting feebly at Kek and melting into his kisses, Bakura knew he should at least be able to acknowledge that Ryou, of all people, deserved the love Kek showered him with. After everything Ryou had been through…losing his mother and sister, his father all but abandoning his one remaining child in his grief, and his manipulation and suffering at Bakura's own hands…

He and Ryou were somehow closer now than Bakura ever thought they could be, and yet, he couldn't be happy for them. He just couldn't.

It wasn't in him.

It wasn't there.

Nothing was there.

Instead, he felt his chest tighten, his hands shake, his breathing start to quicken against his will. He had never been able to control the awful reactions, ever since they had begun, but he knew what they meant - he was crashing, and fast.

 _No, god fucking dammit no, not now, not now - !_

Surely nobody's heart could beat this fast? Bakura clutched at the front of his shirt and shivered with the dizziness, the waves of nausea threatening to shut him down.

Vaguely he registered the scrape of a chair, a warm hand taking his own. Unsure of what was happening, Bakura allowed himself to be led out of the room and upstairs, to the spare bedroom.

 _Where…? Oh, Malik's…of course. But…_

"Bakura, are you okay?" Malik sat Bakura down on the bed and knelt in front of him. "I've never seen you tremble like that before. You don't look well."

All Bakura could do was shake his head in response, his words catching in his throat like dead weight. He grabbed at his hair, sharp, shuddering breaths beginning to crescendo into hyperventilation.

"Okay, _habibi,_ I need you to breathe. Focus on me…look at me, okay?" Malik reached out with steady hands and cupped Bakura's cheeks, lifting his face up so they could look eye to eye. "I know it's hard," Malik whispered. "Believe me, I know. Breathe deeply…let's try and calm you down, alright?"

In his haze of sorrow, there was little else Bakura could do but follow Malik's orders. He closed his eyes and leaned his brow against Malik's, acknowledging the soft whoosh of Malik's breath on his face, using it to guide his own breaths. Malik continued to hold Bakura's cheeks, his palms warm and soft, a comforting touch that Bakura didn't know he had ever needed so badly until he felt it.

It was as if he could float away, lost and cursed to wander alone forever, but Malik…he was Bakura's anchor, grounding him, tying him to the earth securely. There was little point in trying to fight the feelings of shame and anger he harboured towards himself, not now, not when the deep, slow breathing, and Malik's tender stroking of his face, was calming him faster than anything else had ever done in his life.

Slowly…slowly…attachment to the world began to return. The pounding in Bakura's chest no longer felt as though it could crack his ribs at any moment, though his mind remained on the dizzy side. Nevertheless, he was aware of himself, and of Malik, and of what had just transpired. He managed a few rapid blinks, fluttering his lashes as if to clear the irritant that was his fucked-up mental health.

"I'm good now, Malik," he murmured.

"Are you going to tell me what's on your mind?" Malik asked, almost like he could read Bakura's even at that very moment.

Bakura opened his mouth, but the words still struggled to come, so he shook his head and pulled away from Malik, heat rising to his cheeks. "Later," he just about managed to croak out.

"Sure," Malik nodded. "You should take your time. I don't want to push you."

 _Who the fuck are you and what have you done with the shit-talking, smug little brat called Malik?_ Bakura's coherent mind slotted itself firmly back into its usual spot and immediately yelled about being rather unnerved that Malik, of all people, was the one who had been Bakura's comfort. Yet, strangely…he didn't mind. In fact, he rather liked the idea of that comfort being a constant presence.

"Um, hey…Malik?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you, um…I mean to say, will you - ah, fuck - "

"Bakura?"

 _Is this shit supposed to be this fucking hard?! Words, man! Words!_

"Will you stay with me?" Bakura blurted out, and Malik blinked several times in response. "Not here, I mean," Bakura continued, blushing violently now and hating himself for it, "but maybe…you could spend a few days at my place? Being on my own is boring."

Malik wrinkled his nose. "You idiot. You chose to move out on your own."

"Yeah, well, have _you_ ever had to listen to Ryou and Kek fucking? They're horrible at keeping quiet."

"Ryou sure kept that bit on the down-low when he offered to let me stay here."

"Yeah, like I said, horrible."

Malik gave Bakura a goofy, endearing grin. "And there you were, just a week ago, saying you didn't want me under your nose. I suppose you've twisted my arm, _habibi..._ I'll stay for a while, but only if you keep the place clean. I am not living in that bombsite you call an apartment otherwise."

"See, Malik, there's this little thing called "employment," and you tend to find it eats into your time considerably." Bakura tried to keep a scowl on his face, but he knew what _'habibi'_ meant, especially coming from a flirtatious heart-stealer like Malik, and the implication had him fighting not to blush like an embarrassed teenager.

Malik snorted, clearly amused and not at all offended. "Well, you seem back to your usual asshole self, so I'm going back downstairs." His smile widened further, and the happy, excitable expression had butterflies flitting about the pit of Bakura's stomach. "Today will be the day I finally kick someone's ass at a video game!"


	9. Chapter 9

Malik noted Ryou's anxious gaze when he and Bakura came back downstairs. He clearly wanted to ask what had happened, but Malik shook his head ever so slightly. He felt just as perplexed as Ryou looked, but in any case, Bakura looked relatively calm now, and there was little need to work him up again. They settled in the living room, next to Ryou and Kek on the sofa, and slotted Mario Kart into Ryou's old SNES. Bakura's sour expression immediately brightened as the title music started playing; it was difficult to believe that just five minutes earlier, the same young man was practically having a panic attack.

 _Well, no, actually,_ Malik corrected himself, as he hurled a blue shell at Kek, to explosive curses from his former alter in a Japanese-Arabic mishmash. _I was much the same not long ago, so I_ can _believe it. Bakura's got a lot going on that he isn't telling us about, but I can see a little of what's happening in his head. One thing's for sure, he needs some proper support._

It wasn't as if Malik knew he was going to "cure" his old friend. He knew enough of his own delicate mental health to be aware that even the strongest medication could only do so much for some people, and that a few talks and hugs did next to nothing. He'd been too anxious about inflicting his problems onto other people, so intimacy and relationships had been completely out of the question, and no doubt, Bakura felt the same, as indicated by his usual tendency to shut everybody out of his life.

Yugi's earlier words reverberated like a heavily struck bell inside Malik's mind, an ever-present reminder, clear and pure. _Partners…equals…he's right, the only way either of us can even begin healing these emotional wounds is by getting back on that even footing with each other. Jeez, it's like Battle City all over again._

"Malik?" Kek was poking Malik's arm curiously. "Are you driving, or what?"

"S-Sorry." Malik shook his head and picked up his controller again.

"Dork," Bakura grinned, tucking his feet up to the side and getting more comfortable on the sofa. With a controller in his hands and the skin around his dark eyes crinkling with every smile, Malik couldn't help but think Bakura looked happier than he'd ever seen him. Indeed, it was beautiful to bear witness to.

Nevertheless, the urge to banter with his old partner got the better of him. "Screw you, Bakura."

"I mean, sure, if that's the way you swing."

Malik nearly choked on his own tongue. Ryou burst out laughing, causing Malik to glare at him. "Oh, come on! Am I really _that_ obvious?"

"Yes," Kek smirked.

"Oh, fuck you!"

"Sorry, I'm taken." Kek nuzzled Ryou's cheek affectionately.

Malik glanced worriedly at Bakura, gauging his reaction, but this time, Bakura looked rather nonplussed. In fact, he nestled ever so slightly closer to Malik. "I'm hanging off the edge here," he muttered when Malik raised a questioning eyebrow at him.

Ryou giggled at their interaction. "It wouldn't do to let Bakura fall now, would it, Malik?"

 _I hate you all._ But really, that was the perfect excuse to slip an arm round Bakura and tug him closer. To his astonishment, Bakura settled down with his head on Malik's shoulder, leaning his body weight against Malik's side. The sudden contact made sparks dance across nerves Malik hadn't been aware he possessed, but at the same time, he felt once more just how light Bakura was; he should have been dead weight, but rigidity pressed into Malik instead of softness and curves. He wouldn't bring it up, though…not yet. Bakura seemed happy, and he didn't want to spoil that, so he chanced a little further and dropped a gentle kiss to Bakura's brow.

Ryou gasped, Kek rolled his eyes, but Bakura merely chuckled and shifted closer. "You're playing a different sort of game here, Ishtar," he murmured. "You sure you know what you're doing? This isn't Mario Kart."

"Says you," Malik shot back. "You're the one snuggled into me like a damn teddy bear."

"You're cute and comfortable."

"Are you drunk?"

"I'm always drunk."

Ryou had a hand pressed to his mouth, their game all but forgotten. "Holy crap," he whispered not-so-subtly to Kek, "this is perfect, don't you think?"

"It's fucking embarrassing is what it is," Kek hissed. "Get a room, you two."

Malik blazed past Ryou on the race track and left a banana peel in his path. "Oh, honey, that reminds me," he said to Ryou, "I'm going to crash at Bakura's place for a few days, if that's alright with you."

Ryou's delicate features became a mask of glee. "Of course it is!" he trilled. "Do you want some help moving your things over?"

"Nah, it'll be alright. Do you mind if I leave some stuff here? I'll take the rest with me."

"No problem at all. And you know you're welcome to come by whenever you like, right? Bakura should still have the spare house key I gave him."

Bakura dug in his pocket and pulled out his keychain, frowning at it a moment. "Yeah, it's still there," he said, tucking the chain away, "somehow."

"Thanks for not losing it. My landlord would give me hell if I couldn't return it someday."

Bakura grunted in affirmation, leaning ever closer into Malik. Seemingly uninterested in any further conversation, he focused further on the game.

Later, when they grew bored of Mario Kart, they played Smash Bros., and after that, threw a rubbish horror movie on. Bakura's head made its way into Malik's lap shortly after the movie's intro, taking advantage of the extra space afforded him when Kek decided to sit on the floor. Warm, happy and comfortable, Malik occasionally ran his hand through Bakura's hair, playing with the messy strands that had fallen out from his ponytail; he barely even noticed he was doing it, the soft, appreciative purrs from Bakura unconsciously spurring him to continue. Ryou, sat beside Malik, seemingly couldn't help glancing over from time to time, smiling and giggling at their close, almost intimate, contact.

"Doing okay down there, _habibi?"_ Malik asked Bakura.

"Mm."

"Bakura?"

"Don't stop," Bakura muttered, nudging his head into Malik's open palm.

Grinning, Malik scratched behind Bakura's ear, delighting in the heavy sigh he made in response. "You're like a kitty."

Bakura rolled onto his back and scowled up at Malik. An odd tension rose and stiffened his shoulders, but they dropped back down after a few moments, accompanied by a roll of Bakura's eyes. "Shut up."

"Okay, I'm sorry." Malik brushed Bakura's fringe back from his face, seeing himself reflected in the deep pools of Bakura's brown eyes. Bakura continued to gaze up at him, looking a little pissed off, but Malik just thought the expression was cute on him. This interaction between them seemed such a far cry from the previous week, when there had been shouting and tempers flaring, that Malik hardly dared to believe he was being allowed this closeness to Bakura, let alone his former partner initiating it. Yet here he was, nestled into Malik's lap, giving the occasional shiver as Malik's fingers played over his scalp. His face appeared peaceful once Malik had stroked the tension away from his brow, the rest of his body assuming a rather rigid stance; Malik assumed he might have still been fighting off nerves from being so close.

Halfway through the movie, Kek grabbed an armful of snacks from the kitchen for them all to share. Malik politely declined, but Ryou tore eagerly into a "family-sized" bag of potato crisps, and Bakura occasionally sucked on a piece of chocolate as he watched the movie. It was getting towards eight o'clock now, and Ryou hopped up from time to time to go into the kitchen and prepare actual food, though, knowing him and Kek, they wouldn't be eating it until very late into the night.

On the third time Ryou got up, Bakura followed him, and Malik's ears pricked at the sound of the kettle starting to boil. Bakura reappeared soon after with a mug of coffee and sat back down beside Malik, eyes firmly fixed on the TV screen and any trace of former cheerfulness gone. "You look tired," Malik commented. "Need the caffeine?"

Bakura gave a shrug and raised the mug to his lips. Malik's gaze focused on his hands, and he frowned. "Bakura, you're shivering. Are you cold?"

"No," he growled in response.

"Are you alright?"

"Leave me alone, Ishtar."

Kek snorted, flicking an empty sweet wrapper in Bakura's direction. "He's withdrawing," he told Malik. "Probably hasn't had a drink for most of the day."

"Fuck you, other Ishtar," Bakura snapped.

"Yep, definitely withdrawing."

 _Is this just how dependent he's become?_ Malik worried, unable to look away from Bakura. He'd now deliberately shifted right to the end of the sofa, tucking his knees up against his chest, his face twisted in an ugly scowl. It was clear by how tightly he gripped his mug that he was trying not to let the tremors show, but it was futile, merely serving to direct them throughout his body instead.

"Bakura?" Malik tried again, tentatively.

He was met with a glare so deadly, he was surprised poison didn't shoot from Bakura's mouth when he opened it. "Do… _not…_ push me, Malik."

Kek muttered several Arabic curses under his breath, and hauled himself off the sofa. He disappeared into the kitchen a moment, then came back with a shot glass of some pale brown liquid, which he dumped into Bakura's coffee. "Drink that and shut the fuck up."

"Kek!" Ryou yelled from the kitchen. "Did you just give Kura my whiskey?"

"Only a shot! How else was I going to get him to behave?"

Ryou poked his head round the door, looking reproachful. "You're terrible, love."

But Bakura just laughed and drained the peculiar mixture in several long gulps. "Thanks, freakshow," he said. "Now, I believe I've overstayed my welcome, if _yadonushi's_ face is anything to go by, so I'll be taking my leave."

"Don't call me that," Ryou frowned.

"Hmm, yes...I suppose that's the wrong word. I'm not your tenant anymore, am I? No, I'm the rat dragged up from the gutter, where it was comfortable. Perhaps I should call you _"traitor"_ instead."

Malik's mouth dropped open. _How dare he?!_

Ryou's eyes grew tearful, and he fled back into the kitchen without another word. Malik glanced to Kek, who shook his head, looking guilty. _An enabler indeed._

"Coming?" Bakura asked Malik, already standing by the front door as if nothing had happened.

Ryou's soft sobs filtered through from the kitchen, and the sounds shook something in Malik, something primal and protective. He marched up to Bakura, prodding him forcefully in the chest. "You're a heartless prick, you know that?"

Bakura raised an eyebrow. "Tell me something I don't know."

Scarlet rage simmered hot and fiery behind Malik's eyes as he fought not to punch Bakura in his arrogant face, but Ryou gave a loud sniff, and his anger abated ever so slightly. "I will deal with you in a minute, asshole," He spat at Bakura, then turned on his heel and stormed off to the kitchen.

He found Ryou washing up at the sink, sniffling, his head bowed, fluffy hair obscuring his eyes. "Hey, honey…" Malik wrapped his arms around Ryou, carefully prising a wet glass out of Ryou's hands and setting it aside. "I'm sorry you're having to deal with this right now. I know it must be tough."

Ryou scrubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, only managing to smear a few stray soapsuds over his cheeks. "I just want the guilt to stop," he whispered.

"You've nothing to feel guilty for."

"I dragged him back into the world…for what? For him to go and drink himself to death?" Ryou's voice rose, a bitter note tainting his words. "It was an accident, he knows that, but every single fucking day, he makes his feelings towards it known by ripping my heart to shreds, over and over again! I can't stand it, Malik! I can't take any more of this! So please…" He shook his head and pulled himself free of Malik's embrace. "…Please take him home. I can't bear to have him here a moment longer."

That was when Malik knew Ryou had finally crumbled under the strain of holding himself together. Ryou tried so hard to make it up to Bakura, knowing how his former darkness felt about being unceremoniously dumped back into the land of the living. But this…it was uncalled for, and not what Ryou, or anyone, deserved. Malik's soft, sweet friend hated letting anyone be privy to his sorrow, when he himself was so focused on making sure everyone around him was okay. For him to be breaking down in tears meant he'd had enough of faking being strong.

"I'll be back soon, okay?" Malik kissed Ryou's cheek and went back to the living room. As he stalked towards a smirking Bakura, he jabbed a finger in Kek's direction. "You are in _big_ trouble, Kek, so for your sake and Ryou's, you'd best be sleeping on the couch tonight."

Kek scratched the back of his head. "Duly noted."

Malik grabbed Bakura by the arm and dragged him out the front door, away from the tension he'd created within.


	10. Chapter 10

**_Content warnings in this chapter for dissociation and flashbacks, and I'm sorry these chapters are so short at the moment - I can't normally stand to have several POVs in one chapter, so I've had to separate everything out, leading to these very short updates. The chapters do get longer later, I promise._**

* * *

Bakura had well and truly fucked up, and he knew it. Malik only walked with him halfway before turning on his heel and walking straight back the way they had come, muttering that he'd be over later. Knowing there was little point in following him, Bakura completed the journey home alone. Ryou clearly had no desire to have him around at present, and Kek had a habit of punching things that pissed him off or annoyed his beloved. After suffering at least two broken noses in Ancient Egypt, it wasn't a position he fancied putting himself in again for the sake of a few drunken laughs.

The lock on the door to the apartment building had been fixed at some point during the day, but Bakura didn't have the key to it anymore, since it had been broken for so long. Bubbling with a seething, half-withdrawing rage, he smashed the pane in the door and hauled himself inside, paying no heed to the razor-sharp spikes of glass tearing into his skin.

Unlocking his front door, he slammed it shut once inside, stalked to the kitchen, and snatched up the vodka bottle on the counter. Kek's shot of whiskey had been just enough to ward off the shakes, but now Bakura needed numbness, the cold, dead hands of despair dragging him down into the abyss in which he belonged. Resolutely ignoring the trickles of blood making their way down his arms, knuckles and cheeks, Bakura sagged against the counter and glugged straight from the bottle, the burn of alcohol soothing the lump of unwanted emotion lodged tightly in his throat.

The detachment from reality came blissfully quicker than he had anticipated. Darkness pervaded the apartment, the light switch having not been touched upon entry, but even with the lack of light, everything seemed to dim further, plunging Bakura's senses into blackness as his world ceased to be real anymore.

 _So cold…_

 _So…so cold…_

 _And this energy…occult energy…it's everywhere..._

 _Not so different, then, from the darkness that had imprisoned Bakura all those years. But the situation…oh, that was different,_ very _different. Time passed sporadically in the shadows, and one moment he'd endured the prods and pokes of Ryou's godforsaken Ouija board as it extracted his thoughts and converted them into communication, and the next, dragged into Ryou's living room, bewildered and wondering why screams filled the air._

 _Malik?_

 _What was Malik doing here?_

 _Why was he screaming like that?_

 _Bakura spotted the source of his terror. A swirl of deepest violet dashed before his eyes, followed by a sharp cry of shock and several voices raised as one._

 _"_ _Take your hands_ off _me, accursed shadow!"_

 _Pharaoh? What was - ?_

 _"_ _Not likely! Now lie there like a good boy while I throttle you, okay?"_

 _Malik's other personality…?_

 _"_ _Yugi! Help me!"_

 _Ryou, throwing himself over the other Malik's shoulders and trying to drag him back…_

 _"_ _But Malik – "_

 _Yugi, crouched by Malik's side, trying to calm him, but Malik continued to scream, clutching his head in his hands as if his very mind was about to shatter._

 _What was going on? Why were they all…why were they all here?_

 _No…_

 _No!_

 _This wasn't how it was supposed to be!_

"Bakura!"

 _No…_

"Bakura, get up!"

 _I can't…this wasn't…let me sleep…please…_

A shock of cold cascaded down Bakura's hair; he jerked upright with a shout, squinting at the sudden brightness in the room. In his dissociative haze, nothing quite pieced together as it should, but one thing was for certain; Malik stood over him, an empty glass in his hand that no doubt had been holding the freezing water now running in rivulets into Bakura's shirt. The mauve-hued storm in Malik's eyes could have destroyed whole civilisations, had it been allowed to be unleashed, and Bakura shivered before its might.

Malik didn't speak immediately. He yanked Bakura up by the arm and dragged him through the apartment to his bedroom. Shoving Bakura inside, he picked up a discarded towel from the floor and tossed it over Bakura's head. "Dry off and change your clothes. We need to talk."

 _No, we don't._ Malik's glare burned too deeply into Bakura for him to be able to find his tongue for the argument he longed to voice. "Turn around," he said instead, and made a circling motion with his finger.

"No," Malik replied. "I want to see how much weight you've lost."

"A lot."

"Don't be a dick, Bakura."

Really, only the shirt was wet, but being a dick sounded petty and amusing, so Bakura made a show of peeling off every last bit of clothing and towelling off his hair while standing completely nude before Malik. If the Egyptian had anything on his mind, he didn't let it show, remaining with arms folded in the doorway and only the lightest of blushes darkening his perfect cheekbones.

His lack of reaction soon bored Bakura, and he dried off his torso before slipping into a dry t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. "Satisfied, Ishtar?"

Malik unfolded his arms and pointed to the bed. "Sit down."

Bakura did so, shoving an old computer mouse and a tangle of cables to the floor with as much force as he could muster in his uncoordinated, vodka-heavy limbs. He crossed his legs, rested his chin in his hands, and turned his head away from Malik's dark stare. He'd seen some horrors in his life, but he'd always been able to face those head-on; Malik's eyes, however, bore something so deep, so emotive, that he couldn't bear to look into them, afraid of what he might see in their stunning depths.

Malik squatted down in front of him, much the same as he had done earlier in the evening, and Bakura found himself glancing back at him, the pull of those eyes too strong to fight. Reality began to return for him as he realised they were in a similar situation once more - were the events of today about to repeat themselves?

"I went back to see how Ryou was doing." Malik's voice was soft, no hint of his earlier frustration evident in his tone. "They were arguing pretty heatedly. I've never seen Ryou get that worked up before…he's usually so calm and level-headed, but I guess when it's you involved, all restraint goes out of the window."

Bakura frowned. They had been arguing…about him?

"Kek was saying he couldn't understand why Ryou cares so much about you, and Ryou was going ballistic that Kek keeps enabling you all the damn time. Yugi was right about him after all."

Well, all that was true, at least - hang on, where the fuck did the pipsqueak come into this?

"Ryou doesn't want to see you, not after you insulted him the way you did. He's had enough, Bakura. Do you have any idea how much you've hurt him these last few years? Bakura! Are you even listening to me?"

He was, just about, but there wasn't much to add, so he just nodded.

"Look, _habibi_ …I get that these last few years have been hard on you. But you're not the only one who's struggled, and it might be time to accept that you need to talk to someone about this."

Bakura turned his head away again, lips pursed. "Don't presume to understand what I've been through."

"Maybe not, but I'd appreciate it if you at least let me try." Malik reached out and took Bakura's hands, squeezing them gently.

Bakura said nothing, but the warmth of Malik's hands held a sweet comfort against the chill that still wracked his body. The urge to stroke the smooth, dark skin with his thumbs ebbed and flowed; Bakura resisted as long as he could, but as with anything involving Malik, he became consumed by his loving, infectious aura, and allowed himself a few indulgent sweeps, feeling the knot in his chest loosen a little as if in silent thanks.

Minutes passed between them, neither speaking. Any desire to spill forth never came. How could he, when it was more than he deserved? Why should he burden anyone else with all the pathetic worries of his mind? Malik was right; others had gone through some difficult times, too, but they weren't the ones bringing it on themselves. Oh, yes, Bakura was more than aware that he was solely responsible for all the self-loathing he felt.

Projecting, he surmised, was just a lot easier than admitting he desperately needed help.


End file.
